by Rachel Cross
“You’re a simple man.” His words the night they met came back to her again.
He smiled, recognition flashing in his eyes. “Something like that.” He shrugged out of his jacket and left it on a hook by the door, then reached out and threaded their fingers. “Come on.”
He tugged her behind him as he moved toward a doorway on the left. The room itself came into view, but Michael stopped just shy of entering it. The family room, attached to the kitchen, spread out before them, every bit as large as the living room. Seated around more of the overstuffed leather furniture sat five people she assumed to be his family. Everyone seemed engaged in conversation. None of them noticed her and Michael.
Michael moved to stand behind her. One hand settled around her waist, holding her against him, as he leaned his head down beside her ear. His voice was a low, intimate hum that mesmerized her.
“I want to point everybody out before they realize we’re here and converge on you. That,” he pointed to a towering man holding a giggling toddler with pigtails, “is my brother, Gabe. The little girl is his daughter Mia. Sitting in front of him is his wife, Lilly. Gabe runs management for my father, but as you can see, Lilly’s pregnant. So for the time being, he’s running Roadie’s.”
Cat peered back at him. “So the bar does belong to your family.”
Michael smiled, warmth in his eyes. “Yeah. Been in our family for generations. Started out as an old saloon way back when, for gold miners. Dad hates the place, but Mom won’t let him sell it. She says it’s history.”
Cat turned back to the room. A dark-haired woman seated on the sofa held another slightly younger toddler. “Is that your mom, holding the little girl?”
Abby Brant looked different from the picture on the wall in his kitchen. Older, the lines in her face more pronounced. Her hair was longer and now held a touch of gray.
“Mm. Beware, she likes to hug.”
The tease in his voice made her smile, in spite of herself, but eased another knot in her stomach. “Thanks for the warning.”
Laughter rumbled out of him, soft and intimate. He leaned closer, his arm tightening around her. “The little girl on her lap is Amy. She’s two. Gabe and Lilly’s second. The man in the armchair on the left is my father.”
Remembering his warning, her stomach clenched, but she didn’t have time to ponder the thought for Michael continued his introductions.
“The formidable-looking woman arguing with him,” amusement and fondness laced his tone as he pointed to a white-haired woman who appeared to be in her mid-seventies, “is my grandmother. My father’s mother. She and my mother take turns cooking on Sundays. Tonight’s her turn.”
“You don’t have a cook?” Didn’t the wealthy all have cooks and maids and butlers?
“Well, normally my mother and grandmother wouldn’t dream of hiring one. My grandmother’s very traditional. Mom finally gave in a few years ago and hired Silvia, but they give her Sundays off. Dinner together as a family is a tradition.”
She glanced back at him. “Did you miss them?”
Something soft lit in his eyes as he studied her. “Yeah, actually I did. I missed my grandmother’s cooking, my mother’s incessant need to hug, missed hanging out with my brother, but . . . Dad’s a double-edged sword. Things were always tough with him.” He was silent a moment, staring at the room beyond, his mood heavy and brooding, then he shook himself. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, mischief gleaming suddenly in his eyes. “You can back out now if you want. They haven’t seen you yet.”
His teasing ought to make her nervous, but to Cat’s surprise, it had the exact opposite effect. “Are you as tense as I am?” She smiled at him. He sure didn’t look it. He appeared as relaxed as he ever was. Like nothing rattled him.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Honestly? A bit. I have no idea how my father’s going to react.”
The question nagged at the back of her mind, demanding to be spoken out loud. “May I ask a personal question?”
“You can ask me anything.” The fingers at her waist stroked gently, a tenderness in his voice that curled her toes. “I don’t have much to hide from you.”
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She was half afraid to ask, but curious all the same. “Where’s your grandfather?”
“They divorced years ago. Back when . . . ”
His voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the statement. She knew what he meant. His grandparents divorced because of her mother. The arm around her waist tightened, warm and reassuring. “I’m sorry.”
She sighed, grateful but still scared. “It’s okay. I just—”
“They’re not going to hold it against you. If they do . . . ” He winked. “You’ve got me.”
It was the quiet honesty in his expression that got to her, finally soothing the last of her jagged nerves. Once again, his quiet strength and support proved exactly what she needed.
“Michael! There you are.”
They both turned toward the feminine voice. His mother rose from the sofa and moved in their direction. All eyes settled on them, and Cat’s stomach flip-flopped, her heart taking a firm place in her throat.
Michael leaned toward her again. “Show no fear.” He whispered the words in her ear, his warm breath tantalizing the sensitive spot below her earlobe. “They can sense it.”
A shiver raced the length of her spine, at odds with the nervous trembling. She peered back at him.
An impish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
She was hard pressed not to return one. “That helps. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Michael winked.
The flirtatious sparkle in his eyes took her breath away. For a moment, she was caught in an intense desire to turn and capture his mouth. He was in fine form tonight, obviously attempting to set her at ease. She was grateful to him for it. It made him irresistible. Beyond the leather and the hard, aloof exterior lay the heart of a sensitive man. One who was very quickly capturing her heart.
As his mother came to a stop in front of them, she darted a glance between the two of them, offering Cat a genuine smile that lit up her face. “This must be your surprise.”
Michael turned to his mother, looping both arms around Cat’s waist as he did so, holding her against him. A bold, possessive move his mother’s eyes didn’t miss. “Mom, this is Cat.”
Not certain how to greet the woman, Cat awkwardly stuck her hand out, praying the woman didn’t notice the way her fingers trembled. “Cat Edwards. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The older woman’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she shook her head. “We hug in this family, sweetie.”
Ignoring her hand completely, his mother pulled her from Michael’s grip and into her arms, enveloping her in a tight embrace and a cloud of soft, floral perfume. Immediately drawn into the woman’s warmth, Cat hugged in return.
“Edwards.” Gripping her by the shoulders, his mother pulled back suddenly, her brow furrowed. “You’re Jonathan’s daughter.”
Cat smiled shyly and nodded, more than a little relieved his mother remembered her father and not her mother. “Yes, ma’am.”
“How is your father, honey?” Mrs. Brant raised her brows, a keen interest in her eyes that said she wasn’t merely being polite, but actually cared.
“He’s fine. He sends his regards.”
His mother released her shoulders and took her hand instead, patting the back of it. “Well, you tell him I’ll call in a few days. We’ll get together for dinner again soon.”
Cat nodded. “He’d like that.”
Turning to look at Michael, his mother’s brow furrowed again. Her expression sobered, soft and motherly. “You haven’t brought someone home to meet the family in years, sweetheart.”
Michael settled his hands on Cat’s shoulders, his palms warm and reassuring. She swallowed hard. Here went nothing. “I have an announcement to make, but I’d like to give Cat a chance to meet everybody first.”
His mother s
tared at him for a moment, then understanding dawned in her dark eyes. “Of course.” Turning to Cat, she tugged on her hand, leading her into the room. “Come with me, dear. I’ll introduce you.”
• • •
Seated on the sofa between his mother and his grandmother half an hour later, Cat turned her head in search of Michael. He stood with his brother beside the fireplace, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. The two men appeared deep in conversation. As if feeling her stare, Michael turned his head and caught her gaze. Something tender and full of heat passed between them. The quiet intensity sent a delicious little shiver down her spine, only to settle warm and familiar in the pit of her stomach.
For the last half hour, he’d entrusted her to his mother’s care but seemed to hover close by. He was never more than a few feet away and always watched her with intense eyes that made her tremble. His continuous attention gave her an odd sense of familiarity and belonging. As if this weren’t a pretense at all, but that their lives were truly being joined. Now those dark eyes held a hint of possession.
His brother patted his shoulder then turned and meandered toward his wife, currently seated cross-legged on the floor with both girls. Holding her gaze, Michael held his hand out in silent invitation. She touched his mother’s arm, murmured her excuses, and rose to her feet, crossing the room to him as if pulled by something stronger than the earth’s gravity.
When her hand slid into his much larger one, he pulled her close, settling his hands on her hips. “How’re you holding up?”
She smiled. “You were right. Your mother is warmth personified, but I don’t think your father likes me.”
Michael’s brows furrowed, his mouth settling into a thin, hard line. “He gave you the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Yeah. He demanded to know who I was, where I was from, and what my intentions were toward his son.” It had been a nerve-wracking experience. She only prayed she gave him the answers he wanted.
Michael shook his head. “I’m sorry. I hope it’s not too much, but I don’t want to take the risk by telling everyone the truth. I think you’ll be safer if everyone thinks this is for real.”
She settled her hands on his chest, enjoying the warmth and solidness of his body. It gave her reassurance. After being in the middle of strangers, being with him felt like coming home. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
That intensity seeped back into his gaze. “I believe we’ve already discussed this. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. My father’s a hard man, but when push comes to shove, he won’t hesitate to defend his family. You’re family now.”
That’s what scared her the most. She could easily imagine this being a weekly occurrence, having dinner every Sunday with his family. The thought settled into her bones, warm and familiar. She longed for that dream her entire life, to have a family to come home to every day. Now Michael made her yearn to be a permanent part of his world.
“Dinner’s ready, everyone.”
At the sound of her voice, Cat turned. Mrs. Brant stood at the back of the room, a warm, proud smile on her face.
“Come, come.” She waved her hands. “Eat.”
Slowly, one by one, everyone filed out of the room. His hand on the small of her back, Michael led her into a formal dining room down the hall. Yet another room that awed her.
“There are no small rooms in this house, are there?” She took in the room around her as Michael guided her to a seat near the end of the table.
Taking his chair beside her, Michael gave a quiet laugh. “Just the closets.”
The room held a large mahogany table in the center, dressed in a white lace tablecloth, on the center of which sat small votive candles in golden holders on either side of a large bouquet of beautiful orange tiger lilies. A golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, the small bulbs resembling candles, bathing the space in soft, warm light.
The food, it turned out, was simple and homey but spectacular. A beef pot roast cooked with carrots and onions and a side of creamy mashed potatoes, all served with slices of fresh, warm bread and a crisp salad.
“The food is delicious, Mrs. Brant.” Cat smiled across the table at the older woman.
His mother’s eyes crinkled at the corners with her warm smile. “Please. Call me Abby, sweetheart. Mrs. Brant makes me feel so old.” She gave a quiet laugh and glanced at her plate to fork a bit of roast before looking back up. Her brows rose in silent question. “Do you cook, dear?”
Cat shrugged, taking a moment to chew and swallow before answering. “Functional. Self-taught mostly. I’m afraid neither of my parents cooked.”
Abby darted a glance at her as she scooped a forkful of potatoes. “Never had anybody to teach you then.”
Cat shook her head as she speared a piece of the roast beef.
Abby paused, her fork stopping in midair, her face lighting up. “You and I should get together then. There’s a lot I can teach you. Taught both my boys to cook.” She beamed with pride before turning a stern, motherly frown on Michael beside her. “You be sure to bring her back next Sunday.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Michael smiled, polite and pleased, before lifting his glass of water to his lips and taking a sip.
“You come early.” His mother turned back to Cat again. “You can help me make supper.”
An inexplicable warmth bloomed in Cat’s stomach. “I’d like that.”
His mother’s gaze shifted, no longer polite and warm, but now more somber. “Michael, dear, this announcement you need to make. Do you plan on letting us in on your little secret anytime soon?” Her brows rose in expectation.
Cat swallowed. Oh boy. The moment of truth had arrived.
“Yes, Michael, do let us off the hook. We’re all dying over here.” At the end of the table, an impish glimmer sparked in Gabe’s eyes that almost made Cat want to laugh with its familiarity. Apparently, both brothers shared the mischievous trait.
“You ready?” Michael’s voice came as a quiet hum in her ear.
She turned to look at him again. He appeared surprisingly calm while her stomach twisted itself into a knot. “As I’ll ever be.”
His hand slipped over hers where it rested on her thigh beneath the table. He nodded at her, then turned to the table at large. “All right. I guess it’s time. I’ve asked Cat to marry me.”
Stunned expressions greeted them, the room going eerily quiet. Nervous butterflies took flight in her stomach, making Cat suddenly nauseous. Peering at Michael, he flashed a reassuring smile, but his fingers tightened around hers, telling her he wasn’t as self-assured as he appeared. The knowledge gave her comfort. At least she wasn’t in this alone.
Down the table, Gabe’s brows shot up. “You want to get married?” He spoke like it was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.
His mother’s eyes darted between Cat and Michael, confusion knitting her brow. “Sweetheart, you’ve been in town for all of two weeks.”
Mr. Brant, however, merely grunted before turning a disapproving stare across the table at Michael. “Need I remind you what happened the last time you wanted to marry someone? How is it you’re so sure she’s the one? That she won’t end up like the last one?”
Michael stiffened beside her, his fingers going still in hers. “And here I thought maybe we’d actually gotten past that.”
The dejected tone of his voice had Cat glancing at him.
He stared at the table, his brow furrowed. After a moment, he lifted his head. “You know, I didn’t have to bring Cat home at all. I said this in the hospital, and I’ll say it again—what happened ten years ago wasn’t my fault. I didn’t pull that damn trigger. I’ll admit I’ve made my share of mistakes, Dad, but I’ve grown up. I wish like hell you’d stop hanging them over my head. Every single person in this room has made mistakes. Including you.”
Silence once again fell over the room. Mr. Brant lifted his chin, a stubborn glint in his eye. Apparently, the old man refused to budge.
“I didn’t co
me here to ask for your approval. I thought maybe after all this time we could mend a fence somewhere, but obviously I was mistaken.” Michael shook his head and pushed to his feet, shoving the chair back with his knees. He darted an apologetic glance at Cat. “I’m sorry. I need some air.”
His heartfelt admission the night of the Fourth came back to her, his soft-spoken words etched with pain. Her heart ached for him. Compelled to offer some small measure of comfort, she took his hand and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.
His features relaxed. Tenderness and gratitude flashed in his eyes, and his fingers tightened around hers.
“Michael, sit down.” The commanding voice came from the other end of the table, where Mrs. Brant sat with baby Amy in her lap, her brow furrowed in anger. “I’ve watched this go on for far too long and held my tongue, hoping the two of you would eventually grow up and get over your egos. Two more stubborn men I have never met. Bullheaded and acting like children on top of it. The two of you are so much alike you can’t even see it. This stops here. Now.” She stood, moved around the table and handed Amy to Gabe before turning back to Michael. “What is it you see in this girl?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Does it really matter, Mom?”
Mrs. Brant returned to her seat, her expression calm but unyielding. “I asked you a question, young man, I expect an answer.”
Michael turned to study Cat’s face. After a long moment, his eyes softened, and he sank onto the chair behind him. “That’s easy. She takes me as I am. She doesn’t expect anything from me, doesn’t ask for more than I’m willing to give. She accepts me for me. Ugly past and all. She’s gone through nothing but hell since I got here, but somehow, she still said yes.”
The intensity in his eyes made her tremble. Something real, something soft and tender, passed from him to her and back again. It was a simple gesture but one that spoke volumes, and the moment wrapped around her heart. It was yet another piece of him she wanted to be there forever. A lifelong connection to a man who made her feel, for the first time in her life, her heart had finally found a home.